


We're Not Talking About It

by LaMepriseFangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, PWP, Vaguely dub-con, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 12:39:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1186296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaMepriseFangirl/pseuds/LaMepriseFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some rituals require the blood of a virgin. Not this ritual--Sam and Dean need the blood of someone who has "laid down in bed with a soul raised from perdition." Unfortunately, the brothers, Hell alumni themselves, haven't done so. There's a painfully obvious solution, and it leads to a more complicated aftermath than they'd hoped.</p><p>(The 1,000,000th fic on AO3!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Hey, Dean, this ritual we're about to do... it says you need to use the blood of someone who's had sex with someone who's been to Hell."  
  
Dean looks up slowly.  
  
"What did you just say?"  
  
Sam hands the antique tome to Dean and he reads aloud:  
  
" '...the blood of one who has laid down in bed with a soul raised from perdition.' "  
  
Sam and Dean look at each other. Figurative crickets start chirping.  
  
"You told me you banged Ruby a few times," Dean says, clearing his throat.  
  
"I don't think a demon counts as a soul raised from perdition."  
  
Dean nods with a grimace.  
  
"Dean, we  _need_  to do this spell. Lives are depending on it."  
  
"I know!" Dean bristles. He inhales and exhales before talking again. "Are you sure you never banged anybody who'd gotten out of Hell?"  
  
"Well I wouldn't bet on it. You?"  
  
"Don't you think I would have said something by now if I thought I had?"  
  
Sam and Dean look around the room, avoiding each other's eyes.  
  
"What if... well, anybody either of us has slept with would fit the bill. Dean, by now, you- you must have hooked up with somebody within 100 miles of here."  
  
"If I have, I don't remember her name, her face, where she lives, or her phone number. And what would I do if I did? Stroll in, say hi, ask to cut her arm open?"  
  
Sam shrugs.  
  
The motel room goes quiet again. Neither wants to be the first to bring up the most obvious option.  
  
"Dean, uh... um... we- we just have to be mature about this." Sam stares at the table very hard. "We've been shot and stabbed–been to Hell, obviously–saving other people. I think people's lives have to take priority over our, uh, discomfort."  
  
"Fine, let's do it."  
  
Sam looks up.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'm sparing us both the trouble of you arguing why we should do it. I don't wanna hear it, you don't wanna say it. So- so- we'll just- let's do this and do the ritual and get the hell out of this town and forget about it."  
  
"...Okay. Who's going to-" Sam pauses to consider his word choice. "Do what?"  
  
"Have you been with a guy before?"  
  
"Have you?"  
  
"Yeah," Dean replies.  
  
Sam was not expecting that answer.  
  
"Have you, Sam?"  
  
"No. ...I mean, a couple handjobs at Stanford," Sam shrugs.  
  
Dean rolls his eyes.  
  
"You top," he says. "Give me a minute." He gets up and heads into the bathroom, locking the door behind him before Sam processes what his brother has just said to him.  
  
Sam allows himself a mental image of fucking Dean and shudders because it's  _wrong_ , but realizes he's getting turned on by the thought. He can't decide whether that's good or bad. He distracts himself by trying to think logically about the situation. He runs himself into a mental dead end because even when there's a logical reason to have sex with a sibling, there is nothing logical about it whatsoever.  
  
When Dean comes out of the bathroom, he heads to the window and shuts the curtains. He slowly turns around to face Sam but after the brief initial eye contact, he looks everywhere but at Sam as he begins to strip.  
  
"Found lube?"  
  
"Yup." Sam starts taking off his clothes. "Should I use a-"  
  
"Condom? I don't care either way."  
  
Sam decides against creating more physical evidence than necessary. He already wants to shove the last five minutes of his life into repression. Probably the next 24 hours, too.  
  
"Do we have any booze left? We could use a couple drinks first." Dean is naked to the waist, belt unbuckled.  
  
"I hope so."  
  
Dean checks and finds a bottle of whiskey. He takes a few gulps of it and hands it to Sam.  
  
Dean is completely stripped and getting on his bed by the time Sam sets the bottle down, lounging on his back. He's not even hard and now Sam really hates himself for getting turned on thinking about fucking Dean. He steps out of his jeans and boxers and gets on the bed, on his knees between Dean's spread legs.  
  
Dean finally holds eye contact for a few seconds. He opens his mouth to say something but changes his mind. He closes it and looks up at the ceiling.  
  
"Let's get this over with," he says.  
  
Sam has to close his eyes and take a deep breath. The alcohol isn't helping yet. Everything about this feels wrong, from the incest to the way Dean is lying there like...  
  
"There has to be another way."  
  
"Don't you chicken out now."  
  
"This feels like rape, Dean. You're just lying there like a creepy breathing sex doll."  
  
"Doesn't count if neither of us want this but we agree it has to happen. ...Would it make you feel better if I pretended to want it?"  
  
"I- I don't..."  
  
In one smooth motion, Dean sits up and puts a hand on the back of Sam's head, pulling it closer to his until their lips are almost brushing against each other's. Sam almost pulls away instinctively but instead holds still, eyes shut tight.  
  
"Whatever makes this easier for you," Dean murmurs with whiskey-scented breath.  
  
Chills run down Sam's body as he hears his brother deliver the words as if he were whispering sweet nothings into a lover's ear. Without any more deliberation he leans the half-centimeter forward necessary to kiss Dean, who opens for him immediately, letting Sam take the lead.  
  
This is disgusting and wrong on so many levels, but it  _is_  helping Sam pretend he's having sex with somebody he wants, who wants him in return. As long as Sam keeps his eyes shut and ignores the sharp stubble, he can lie to himself, make up a story that he's banging somebody in Dean's car and that's why it smells like Dean. He's banging somebody who is incredibly good at kissing...  
  
He hears, feels Dean groan. It's exaggerated, only done for effect. Sam appreciates it–his body sure appreciates it, no matter how obviously fake. He's glad they're not touching other than their mouths and Dean's hand on his head. Dean is tangling his fingers in Sam's hair now, and Sam is on the verge of moving his mouth to Dean's neck when he mentally shakes himself and pulls away. He doesn't open his eyes until Dean's extracted his hand from Sam's hair and on his back again.  
  
Dean wipes his mouth, expression neutral and gaze directed anywhere-but-Sam, but demeanor completely different. Relaxed, casual.  
  
"C'mon, Sammy, fuck me."  
  
Sam's eyes widen at the dirty talk. His heart is pounding in his chest and even if the idea of being with his brother still sickens him, now he  _needs_.  
  
He slicks up one finger with lube, then he has to stop again and steel himself. Sam did not wake up this morning expecting to make out with his brother, let alone touch his brother's asshole. He just has to think about something else while he does it and hope it doesn't take too long.  
  
Dean tenses at first as Sam pushes his finger in but relaxes after a second.  _Now_  he's getting hard. He watches Sam, pupils huge, breathing fast.  
  
Sam can almost relax, but the fact is that he's going to have sex with his brother and this isn't what he and Dean signed up for when they decided to come to the aid of the residents of this cursed town. It was supposed to be a regular job, not turn into the most awkward experience of their lives.  
  
He gets two fingers in, and eventually three. He and Dean don't make eye contact or say a single word. The room is too quiet. The shock and physical enjoyment from kissing has worn off and it's only made things worse. He can still taste Dean under the whiskey but now he has to reflect on the fact that he kissed his brother and he's never going to get over that. They didn't have to kiss. That was completely unnecessary and right now Sam is avoiding having a breakdown only by the promise of fucking a nice tight hole. He chooses to concentrate on physical facts and objectify anything he can, depersonalize it and get his brother out of the mental picture.  
  
"Finally," Dean mutters as he feels Sam position himself, slicked up with lube. He puts his hands on Sam's hips as Sam pushes in–still pretending to want it. His dedication is downright admirable.  
  
When Sam is all the way in, he's torn between his ideas of right and wrong and what he's sensing. Being inside Dean feels, in all honesty, incredible and it's  _because_  it's Dean. His big brother, who he loves and would do anything for. In fact, it feels morally right to be this close to Dean. The familiar scent of him makes Sam feel like he's where he belongs.  
  
"Shit, you're tight."  
  
Dean's expression is a hollow smirk for a fraction of a second before Sam looks away and wonders why the fuck he said that out loud. When he looks at Dean's face again, Dean's dropped the act and his eyes are whispering please-let-me-die and it kills Sam.  
  
"We shouldn't do this." Sam begins to pull out but Dean wraps his legs around his little brother as he tugs on his hips, pulling him back in. Sam accidentally lets out a groan of pleasure. A huge line has just been crossed.  
  
"If this is about my feelings, if that's the reason you don't want to do this,  _stop worrying about me_ ," Dean orders. "You want me to kiss you again?"  
  
"No, Dean."  
  
Dean sighs.  
  
"Whatever. If you're gonna fuck me, just fuck me."  
  
Sam's first thrusts are slow, but as he closes his eyes and ignores the fact that he's thrusting into his brother's body, he loses himself in the physical sensation. He doesn't let himself give a name to the person under him, moving their hips in rhythm with his. He pretends the sounds beneath him are completely unfamiliar, that he's never heard his brother having sex before and has no idea what he sounds like in bed. He tells himself to just enjoy the sex, supporting himself with his hands on either side of the warm body below his.  
  
"Sammy," Dean groans, breaking the spell and bringing Sam back to reality. The friction between their bodies is enough that Sam can give himself an excuse not to touch his brother. Dean's hands grasp Sam's flesh, fingernails leaving scratches on his back.  
  
Dean is  _enjoying_  it, or if he's not he's doing a better job of faking it than Sam gave him credit for. Sam should be repulsed by that, but he is too, too much to have any right to judge his brother. He lets himself behave mindlessly, doing whatever occurs to him. He kisses Dean's neck.  
  
" _Fuck_ , Sam," Dean breathes as Sam licks from just above the hollow of his throat to his ear. He tilts his head and leans into it as Sam bites down.  
  
Sam is sucking on Dean's throat when he feels him come, wet heat spurting between them. A few thrusts later, Sam follows him over the edge.  
  
" _Dean._ " Sam shouldn't be coming this hard. This shouldn't feel so good. Being inside Dean shouldn't feel  _right_  the way it does.  
  
Neither of them so much as try to make eye contact as Sam pulls out and rolls off of Dean. Sam covers his face with his hands; he feels dirty and sick. He feels the mattress shift as Dean moves onto his side–towards him. Dean pulls Sam's hands from his face. They look into each other's eyes.  
  
"Cross that off the bucket list of things I never wanted to do," Dean says. He reaches over for the bottle Sam helpfully left on the nightstand and practically chugs a few shots' worth. He gives the bottle to Sam who follows suit. When Sam puts the bottle down, Dean cups his cheek with one hand and kisses him again.  
  
Sam turns his head away.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" he asks without any inflection. Now he gets to stare at the ceiling. He hates these hideous white popcorn ceilings.  
  
"I thought it helped?"  
  
"We fucked. Making out afterwards isn't going to help anything." He glances at Dean's neck. "...Shit, I didn't mean to give you a hickey."  
  
"Yeah, thanks for that."  
  
Neither of them get off the bed; they're both too sleepy. The ritual can wait a few hours. Dean pulls the comforter up over them and they're both asleep within a few minutes.  
  


*

  
Sam wakes up to find that his arms are around someone and that someone is slipping out of his grasp and getting out of bed. He realizes as more of his brain wakes up that the warm body isn't a woman's body; it's Dean's.  
  
Dean his brother. Who he had sex with. Sam cringes and wants to melt away and die as he replays the experience in his memory.  
  
"Let's do the ritual and get out of here," he hears Dean say.  
  


*

  
They use Sam's blood and the ritual works. Job finished, Sam and Dean promptly throw their stuff into the car and speed out of the state.  
  
" _What_ , Sam?"  
  
Sam can't stop staring at the hickey he gave Dean.  
  
"I'm sorry about..." Sam gestures to his own neck.  
  
"We're not talking about it, Sam. We did it, the ritual worked, the end. I'm not a chick, we don't have to hold our breaths and wait for me to get a period."  
  
Maybe it's over as far as Dean is concerned, but for now it's hard to forget what they did when Sam's skin can still feel his brother's stubble from six hours ago.


	2. Chapter 2

The quicker they put a time zone or two between themselves and that entire state, the better.  
  
They can't run away the fact that they had sex, though. It sits between them as they drive, the Fact. It's always uncomfortable having someone sit between them in the front seat, and it's rare, but the awkwardness of this Fact trumps all predecessors. Just as a person sitting there blocks Sam's view of his brother and vice versa, the Fact makes it nearly impossible to meet each other's eyes.  
  
The first motel the brothers check into, Sam does them a favor and gets the room alone. Two guys getting a motel room, at least one of them has had  _somebody_  sucking on his neck? Nope. People make assumptions and insist upon them.  
  
Then Sam remembers that he  _is_  the one who put the mark there.  
  
And a couple hours later, when Sam gets in the shower, his back stings as the water hits it. Before he can finish wondering to himself why, he remembers the way Dean clawed his back. He promptly switches the water to cold and hopes to god this whole thing is temporary.

*

A few days later, they're back to work and almost back to interacting like normal. Meeting each other's eyes is difficult but they can ignore the awkwardness. It's a natural Winchester skill.  
  
Sam gets injured while they're hunting a ghost. It's not serious, but as soon as the bones are burnt and they're back at the motel room, Dean is fussing over him.  
  
"Lemme see your back," he says.  
  
Sam takes off his shirt and lets Dean examine the wounds.  
  
"When-" Dean starts to ask a question and then cuts it off.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
Sam frowns, unseen, until he figures out what Dean saw. The scratches are almost completely gone but close up, Dean couldn't miss them–unlike the mark on Dean's neck that has him turning his collar up every time he's with Sam out in public. Sam constantly catches himself staring.  
  
"Did you  _forget_?" Sam doesn't try hard enough to hide the incredulity.  
  
Dean is in the middle of cleaning the gashes from the hunt. He pauses.  
  
"That's the plan," he says gruffly. "We agreed. We're not talking about it."  
  
Sam tries not to tense up as Dean resumes his doctoring. That doesn't mean he won't think about it.  
  
"These might need stitches, Sam," Dean says about fifteen seconds later.  
  
"I'll be fine. Just bandage it up quickly." Sam can't handle his brother touching his body right now. He's worried he's going to be sick as he remembers fucking his brother, and even more afraid he'll be just the opposite.

*

As a few weeks pass, things do get easier. Sam can't even remember what day it happened. Sometimes Dean has trouble looking him in the eye and Sam needs a second or two to remember why. Sometimes Sam is the one who feels uncomfortable and has to wait for his brother to get it.  
  
One moonless night while driving, Dean suddenly pulls over. He turns off the car and just sits there staring. Sam looks around. They're in the middle of nowhere, nearly blind from the lack of moon or even stars. Everything is a silhouette.  
  
"...Dean?" Sam reaches up to turn on the light only to feel his wrist grabbed and gently pulled back down.  
  
"Leave it off." It's so dark Sam hears more than sees that his brother has his face turned towards him. "Sam, what we did a few weeks back- uh... how was that for you?"  
  
"...I thought we weren't talking about it." Maybe Dean somehow isn't referencing what it sounds like he's referencing, Sam hopes.  
  
" 'M just curious."  
  
" 'Just curious' how I felt about having to fuck you? 'Just curious' if there was some part of that that I  _liked_?! What the hell does that mean?"  
  
"You could just say it sucked."  
  
The younger man sighs.  
  
"I don't know," he says, trying to make it sound like an apology for snapping at Dean. He opts for truth. "I'm not exactly comfortable sleeping with someone who doesn't want it."  
  
"Wasn't that bad."  
  
"I saw your face. You hated it."  
  
"It was awkward, but it wasn't that bad. Honest, Sam, I've had worse hookups than you." There's a smile in Dean's voice.  
  
Sam thinks it over.  
  
"Me too," he finally admits, turning his face to the window, wishing the conversation would end.  
  
Then he feels Dean moving closer to him. This isn't what he had in mind, Sam thinks as he turns his head back.  
  
Their breathing is too loud as Dean rests his hand on his chest.  
  
Sam feels nothing but his heart trying to beat its way out of his body and his brother's hand moving upwards. Dean's fingers creep around to the back of his neck and even though they're warm, Sam gets shivers. Dean leans in and presses their lips together gently, waiting for Sam to make the next decision.  
  
It's so  _wrong_ , he tells himself, but it feels completely natural. Years ago, when Dean showed up at his apartment one night, it had been three years since Sam hunted and he just wanted to be back home, but working with Dean came back to him easier than riding a bike. Sam was only rusty when he stopped to think about it and now this only feels wrong when he stops to think about it.  
  
So he won't stop and think about it. He pulls Dean closer as the kiss deepens. He pushes away the cold merciless facts about wrong and right, and embraces the warm truths that make this thing good. The taste of Dean's mouth is something Sam wants in his own; he tried to deny how he's craved it and now he won't. The grate of stubble is the best kind of pain on his face. And this scent, Dean's scent, has already meant  _home_  to Sam for a long time.  
  
The inside of the car is filled with the wet sounds of kissing, accented by heavy breathing and the rustle of their jackets.  
  
Dean's hands drift down to Sam's belt. Sam breaks the kiss, releasing his brother.  
  
"Dean-"  
  
"You want this, don't you?"  
  
"Fuck yes," Sam breathes. He's dying for release; in the past few weeks he's avoided jacking off as much as possible, because he can't stop thinking about Dean when he does. He'll beg for this if he has to. Lucky him, Sam realizes as Dean opens up his jeans; he doesn't have to.  
  
"Then shut your cakehole."  
  
Sam stifles his questions and concerns and when Dean's mouth joins with his again he kisses Dean harder than before. One second, Dean's tongue is in his mouth and the next, Sam's mouth is empty and he's confused until he feels hot breath on him, much, much lower on his body.  
  
"Shit," Sam whispers out of pure shock just before Dean's mouth closes around him, tongue going to work. Soon Sam is white-knuckle gripping the seat, fighting the urge to thrust into his brother's throat.  
  
He mutters and moans a stream of swears as Dean sucks him off. His nails are going to leave tiny crescent scars in the leather. There are adjectives–wet and hot and tight as Dean takes him deeper–for what Sam is experiencing right now, but they can't do it justice. That's physicality and Sam can find someone wet, hot, and tight elsewhere.  
  
There's just no word for it, for what they are. Brothers, best friends–those terms have never come close. No physical interactions acceptable between siblings can express what's between them. Dying for each other has come the closest. But it's okay that they've never said or shown it, because they both know. Sam and Dean don't need to try, not when putting it into words would only cheapen it.  
  
Of course sex can't convey the love they have for each other, either. Orgasms don't mean more than dying. What does come closer than anything else has before is Dean ignoring the rules about who he's supposed to touch like this, rules that he would normally cling to. Giving your life for your brother is socially acceptable–giving him head is not.  
  
"I'm... gonna..." Sam gasps out, expecting Dean to pull off and finish him with his hand. He doesn't and Sam isn't sure if Dean somehow didn't understand or just doesn't care. He tries to give him time to figure it out, but that mouth is fucking  _relentless_. Sam comes into his brother's mouth, shouting Dean's name.  
  
The blood in Sam's body is still making its way back to his brain as Dean straightens up. In the darkness, his ears are filled with the sound of Dean swallowing his come and his own heavy breathing. No coherent thoughts are available.  
  
Dean hangs back like he thinks he's made a mistake. After a couple seconds of silence, he starts to slide back over to the driver's side. Sam pulls him back by the front of his jacket to give him another kiss.

*

Sam wakes up when the sunrise hits his eyelids. He looks over at Dean, whose eyes are straight ahead on the road, and wonders if he dreamt it. The seeds of paranoia sprout.  
  
"Done with your beauty rest?" Dean doesn't look away from the road.  
  
"Uh... morning." Sam mentally flounders for a tactful way to ask his brother if he blew him last night. And then rejected Sam's offer to reciprocate or at least give him a handjob. "Dean, um..."  
  
"You really gonna try to talk about it first thing in the morning?"  
  
That answers one question.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for taking a month and a half to update. I gave up waiting for my gay sex mechanics beta reader...

The incident in the Impala on that moonless night creates a fresh burst of awkwardness between the brothers, but that too fades as Dean refuses to talk about it. Even though Sam secretly gets himself off on the memory, both manage to shove it back during hard daylight.

Then it happens again. The light is off in the motel room, curtains closed, waning crescent moon high in the sky. Sam and Dean are each in their respective beds.

"Sam?"

"What?"

"D'you ever think about when we fucked?"

"...S-s-sometimes? Yeah?"

"I can't stop. Thinking about it, I mean."

Sam reaches for the lamp and turns it on. He stares at Dean, a discordant mix of alarm and relief swirling inside him. Dean? Bringing _this_ up? There's a soft, maybe even fond expression on Dean's face before he drops his gaze to the floor between them. The warm lamplight illuminates half of his face, his nose casting a long shadow over his cheek.

"Dean, what are you saying?"

"I'm not- Nothing. No. I'm not saying anything."

"C'mon, Dean," Sam sighs, frustrated.

"I don't want to talk about it, Sam."

With that, Dean slips out from under the covers and crosses the four feet between their beds. Sam wordlessly moves to give his brother room as he gets into Sam's bed. They lay their heads on the pillows, Dean's face shrouded in darkness yet again.

"Then what?" Sam asks, voice just above a whisper. He already knows Dean isn't going to answer in words. He couldn't even if he wanted to.

They're so confused, both of them. There's something happening between them and it doesn't make sense, except it does make sense. Sam can't remember ever wanting another man's body before but now he wants this one that's in his bed. Because it's Dean's body and he knows what it's like thrusting into that body and he wants, he needs to be inside Dean again. Dean wants something too and it seems to be the same thing Sam wants; that's why this does make sense. This is just a natural progression of things between them and the biggest question is why they didn't see it coming.

The older brother only needs to lean forward and join their lips together before the younger takes charge, rolling onto his back and pulling Dean onto him. He slips his hands under Dean's shirt, relishing the warm smooth skin. Dean runs his hands over every inch of Sam's body that he can comfortably reach without breaking the kiss. It gives Sam a rush, as if Dean's hands throw off sparks inside his skin at every point of contact. Sam wonders if his hands are doing the same to his brother's skin when he hears that groan from when they had sex the first time. Except now it's completely real and ten times hotter.

When Dean grinds his hips against Sam's, even through two layers of cloth, sparks fly again. They catch and burn, urging Sam on, urging clothes off. Once they're naked, he rolls them over; all he wants to do is rut against Dean, sweating skin against sweating skin. Screw sex; he doesn't want to wait a second longer. But then Dean breaks the kiss and pulls Sam's head down so he can whisper into his ear.

"Fuck me, Sam." Before Sam recovers from the mental imagery, Dean adds, "From behind."

Sam wonders why, as Dean turns over and informs him where to find lube. Why didn't they do that the first time, when having such an easy way to avoid eye contact would have been a blessing? It slipped his mind probably because he's used to having sex with women, but Dean? Dean who admitted he'd been with a guy before? Sam needs to get that story someday, too. He's already come up with a theory and he hopes it's wrong. Anyway, Dean neglecting to point out the obvious option seems weird when he spent almost the whole time trying to avoid looking at Sam.

Unless he didn't. Sam had his own eyes shut for a lot of it.

Once Dean is ready, Sam takes him by the hips and pushes in slowly. He feels like he's been waiting hours and once he's all the way in, he lets himself take a few seconds to try to memorize this, the second time he's been in Dean like this but the first time they wanted it. Both pairs of knees denting the mattress, the lamp lighting less than what it's putting into black shadow, their motel-of-the-week's hideous red and green wallpaper.

No earth-shattering revelations have occurred since they had sex the first time. So it's a mystery as to why Sam needed to imagine someone else before, when now the idea of coming inside Dean is almost the hottest thing he can think of. Why he went for minimal physical contact the first time, when now he's pulling Dean's body up parallel to his, back to chest, because he wants nothing more than to feel his brother against him.

Dean. Closing his eyes, he presses his cheek against Dean's as he runs his hands over Dean's body. So foreign, fingers tracing over hard lines of muscle instead of soft curves, but this is Dean, all Dean. His big brother is never unfamiliar. Sam pulls his head back a little and rests his mouth on the back of Dean's neck. Goosebumps rise up against his lips.

"Tell me again what you want," he whispers into the sweat-dampened skin.

Dean twists his neck around for one more kiss before he whispers back:

"I said, fuck me, Sam."

Sam could come just from hearing those words coming out of Dean's mouth. Maybe someday he will, but for now he's going to do exactly as Dean demands. He starts off gentle; he feels Dean inhale sharply when he reaches down and takes him in hand.

It's the first time Sam has had Dean's hard, hot flesh in his hand and it was the only thing missing from the picture. Both men groan as he strokes in time with his thrusts. Soon he has Dean writhing in his grasp.

It's been so long since anything felt this good for Sam. Pleasuring Dean, he realizes shortly, is what feels so fantastic—the idea of bringing him to climax. He's never had a partner he cared this fucking much about taking care of. He wants Dean to climax more than he wants _himself_ to; he wants to have fingers wet and sticky with his brother's come.

Dean's head lolls back onto Sam's shoulder as the pace increases. Sam plants a kiss on his cheek, plain and simple.

"Love you so much," he tells Dean between thrusts.

" _Sa-am_... Fuck..." Dean sighs. He's getting close, body weeping precome.

"Come for me, baby," Sam murmurs. He doesn't mean to say "baby" but it slips off his tongue naturally.

Dean doesn't seem to care; he's groaning Sam's name as he comes, repeating it until the sound is nonsense. Sam's hand is covered in white and he's nearly overwhelmed with the need to taste it in his mouth, to know the flavor of proof he did this to Dean.

Muscles inside Dean clench around the final thrusts. Sam has just enough time to bring his hand to his mouth and lap off Dean's come before he's lost in his own orgasm.

When he gets down from his high, he pulls out, resting his forehead against Dean's shoulder. It's quiet in the room except for their light panting. Sam slides his hands over Dean's sweating body one more time before collapsing on the bed and pulling his brother with him.

Dean turns around in Sam's embrace for a slow, deep kiss. As Dean's tongue sweeps into the younger man's mouth, Sam has a thought. It's the cheesiest thought to ever cross his mind but he doesn't give a fuck. He almost laughs out loud at himself.

Dean feels the smile through their kiss and pulls back enough to look into Sam's eyes.

"What?"

"Nothin'." He smiles up at Dean.

Whatever is happening between them, whatever they're becoming, it feels good. It's all the excitement and joy of a new crush, except they've already been in love for years.

Dean returns the affectionate look before slipping out of bed.

Sam is so sated and sleepy, it doesn't register until Dean switches the lamp off that his brother is back in his bed. Alone.

"Dean??"

"Bed's not big enough for the two of us. ...'Night, Sam."

Even after pulling the covers up over himself, the warmth is gone from Sam's body. He wishes it were the type of chill that comes with a ghost in the room, but it's just the sick cold dread a person gets from hearing a completely bullshit excuse. It's not a good idea to call the bluff, Sam decides. If it were something simple like being upset that Sam called him "baby" Dean would just say so.

As close to unconsciousness as he is, Sam doesn't fall asleep right away. It's hurting him to have to question already just how wrong he was in thinking that they were making love instead of just having sex.

***

The next day, Dean shrugs it off and Sam's heart sinks.

***

When they go to bed, Sam's heart starts racing the moment the light is turned off. Not even thirty seconds later, Dean slips under the covers with him. Sam has half a mind to put his foot down and say No until they talk about this a little.

Instead they make out and come just by rubbing against each other. Sam tries not to let his brother leave afterwards.

"It's not 'cause I called you baby last night, is it?" he asks as Dean tries to twist his wrist away.

Dean hesitates, then he leans in again. Sam thinks maybe he's won.

"Don't care what you call me," Dean whispers as he presses kisses along Sam's jaw.

Then he's pulling away and getting out of the bed.

***

Within two weeks, Sam knows the routine: more nights than not, they fuck. They kiss in the dark and Dean replies to Sam's "I love you"s with "Love you, too." Once he leaves Sam's bed, Dean refuses to acknowledge it. He treats it like a dirty secret.

Not acting like a couple in public is something Sam understands. He'd rather keep up the front that they're normal brothers. It's easier that way. But in the car, in motel rooms, when they're alone, the Fact is still there unaddressed, getting fattened up every time Sam shuffles over to make room on the bed. As big as it is, it sits in the backseat now, half-forgotten at times.

It doesn't take long for the whole thing to start dragging on Sam. Dean's reaction is no different from right after they had sex the first time. ("We're not talking about it," "we don't need to talk about it," and "why do you want to talk about it?") He assigns shame to it as if it were wrong. Maybe it is sick and dirty incest, but it hurts that Dean is implicitly calling it so when nothing has felt so right to Sam for years. Like when they were kids and Dean made fun of things Sam liked, whether it was a song, a fad, or a cute girl, except this is a thousand times worse. And it doesn't stop hurting, because Dean never flashes a grin to say _You know I don't mean it_.

***

Finally Sam has had enough. When Dean climbs into Sam's bed, he gets his older brother underneath him and makes to gently nip at his neck but instead whispers into his ear in a businesslike tone.

"We're going to talk."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not going to fuck you every night and pretend in the daytime that I don't. It can't be like that."

" 'Course it can. It's what we've been doing. It's working," Dean insists.

"No, Dean, it's not."

Dean looks away for a few seconds. He's going to come around, Sam thinks. Then he rolls out from under Sam and without another word retreats back to his own bed.

"Can't you at least tell me why you don't want to sleep in the same bed?"

The answer is slightly muffled; Dean has his back to Sam.

" 'Cause I'll wake up in the same bed."

"And that's a problem because?"

"Because we-" Dean sighs and starts over: "You're my brother and I love you, but we're not- we're not _lovers_. Sure we bang each other, but I'm not gonna be your... boyfriend. Take it or leave it."

Sam leaves it, heart aching with questions and betrayal.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's dick behavior will be explained next chapter which will probably also be the last.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god. It's been over 2 months. I'm so sorry. ...Think of it as reading the story in real time?
> 
> There's no porn in this chapter. :( I'm posting this fluffy, mediocre mostly-resolution of the thing that bears a vague resemblance to a plot because I want to let you know I haven't forgotten or given up on this.
> 
> There _will_ be another chapter after this one eventually because I owe y'all some smut.

And suddenly, things are back to "normal."

Nothing can really be normal between them again, but Sam and Dean don't do anything outside the bounds of typical brotherly interactions. They pretend none of it happened, just like they did after the ritual. Of course, that's not much of a change from when they _were_ sleeping together.

After the lights go out at night, Sam lies there asking himself questions he should have asked long ago. _What did you expect was going to happen? What do you really want from Dean?_

A list of questions for Dean builds up, too, though Sam doesn't let himself think about them too much. Just like he doesn't let himself think about what he used to do with Dean when he sees his brother with his shirt off, or in just a towel after a shower.

It's not the same as if he were seeing a woman in a similar state of undress. Dean's body on its own isn't what Sam craves, what arouses him; it's Dean as a whole, wanting Sam.

Weeks pass, and the Fact is still there. The immense, deformed being is always in the backseat of the car. If there's a silence it will lean forward, arms on the back of the front seat, trying to insert itself into a conversation. And worse, it trails behind them wherever they go, whatever they do. Sure, the brothers are used to stowing crap while they work, but the Fact isn't so easily shoved away when Sam can't shake the feeling that everyone else can see it too: he and Dean were fucking each other and everything is messed up now.

Sam notices one thing that gives him some hope, at least. Just like when they were "together," Dean doesn't try to pick up women. He looks, he flirts, but he never finds an excuse to talk to hot chicks, and he never takes it farther.

***

Sam has missed watching movies with Dean when they're between jobs. Especially slashers with the kind of gory special effects that make them laugh because that's not what happens _at all_ when you cut off somebody's head.

Watching a B-movie, sitting on the couch, drinking beer and sharing a bag of chips, a couple hours pass with the Fact forgotten. It's not until after they turn off the TV that Sam realizes that the couch cushion between them has been empty all night, in every sense. Now he is thinking about it, and it takes a half-second of eye contact with Dean to unintentionally remind him, too.

"Sam, you don't feel like cuddling now, do you?"

Sam blinks and opens his mouth to respond two or three times before Dean continues:

"That's it, Sam. That's why I wanted to keep what we were doing in bed, in bed. What's the alternative, being boyfriends? Watching movies snuggling together? Kissing each other to say hi and bye? That's not us."

Sam tries to picture himself and Dean in that kind of relationship. It gives him about the same feeling as imagining a football team with Hello Kitty-themed uniforms.

"We wouldn't be like that."

"Then what do you want?"

"I just don't want to hear 'we're not talking about it' again. _Acknowledging_ it, Dean, without treating it like a dirty secret."

"I'm not doing 'brothers with benefits.' I- I like... being with you, and the easiest way to do that is what we were doing before."

"I'm not doing 'brothers who pretend they aren't fucking at night.'"

"Well I guess that's our problem right there." Dean starts to get up, done with the conversation.

"No, get over here," Sam says.

The elder brother frowns as he shuffles over to sit next to Sam. He leaves some personal space, but he's close enough that Sam can tug him in for a kiss.

At first Dean is unresponsive, then he begins to cooperate, even moves so he can straddle Sam's legs. He touches his brother's neck, cups the back of his head as he slips his tongue into his mouth.

Abruptly, Dean breaks the kiss.

"Can you look me in the eye and tell me this is not weird as fuck?"

Sam runs his hands up and down Dean's sides as he takes in the moment. He's sitting on a couch, his brother in his lap, and they were just kissing in broad overhead-light. He's seeing the pink football team, but it's nowhere near as bad as he'd feared. His point is proven, to himself if not to Dean.

"Can you look me in the eye and tell me you couldn't get used to it?"

Dean averts his eyes, running his tongue over his lower lip.

"We used to do this in the dark," he concedes.

There's no time for a response before Dean steals another kiss. It's like he's testing something. Apparently it fails.

"But it's not gonna work," he ends, looking away. With that, he promptly abandons his brother on the couch.

***

The light turns off and something occurs to Sam that makes him feel incredibly stupid for not thinking of doing it before.

He slips out of his bed and gets into Dean's.

"Sam?" Dean turns on his side to face Sam, not that it makes much of a difference.

"Would you feel better talking about stuff if it's dark and we're in a bed?"

"What do we need to talk about?"

"I want to know why."

"Why what?"

"Why _any_ of it? Why did this even start?"

For a long time, the only sounds in the room are breathing and a clock ticking softly. Dean exhales heavily before speaking at last.

"Sam, be honest this time. How was that first time for you, when we did the ritual?"

"...It was buried under a shitload of feeling sick about fucking you, but I wanted to do it again. I liked it." Lying in bed with Dean, Sam is getting turned on just thinking about it.

"Well I felt sick from the minute you suggested it because I _didn't_ feel sick with the idea of you fucking me. I still don't know how the hell I managed not getting hard as long as I did. I spent almost the whole time pretending I was only pretending to like it. Freaking out, thinking of what would happen if you found out and didn't feel the same way."

Sam feels some guilt for rejecting Dean's kiss afterwards.

"I tried to forget it, tried not to think about it or wonder why the hell I'd been okay with it. But I couldn't. The facts would start screaming in my ears every time I looked at you."

"So what made you pull the car over?"

"I know you, Sam. You think I can't tell when you're hiding something?"

"What's with us never fucking face-to-face?"

Dean swallows hard.

"Why do we need to? Hookups don't-"

"Dean, don't. None of that was _ever_ just fucking and you know it."

Dean draws closer; his voice grows softer.

"Sam, you're my brother. But I want you. I want to make you come, I want you to make me come. That's wrong and I don't know how the fuck to deal with that other than being... part-time lovers."

Sam is torn between awe that Dean is being so open and incredulity that _that's_ what's behind all this.

"...Sam? You still awake?"

"So if we weren't brothers, and everything else was the same, we'd be good? You're saying the source of conflict here is 'incest is wrong'?"

"Yeah?"

"After all the shit we've done? Stealing, digging up graves, _killing_? This is where you draw the line?"

"We're used to doing all that."

"Then get used to banging your brother, Dean."

Dean is quiet. The younger man decides the conversation is over and retreats to his own bed.

***

The next morning Sam awakens with Dean next to him.

"Hey," Dean greets as if there's nothing unusual about him lying on his side in Sam's bed, clearly having spent the night there. He must have moved after Sam fell asleep.

"...Hey. ...Um, what are you doing here?"

"Making up for the times you woke up without me."

Sam digests the information and eventually replies:

"That's... disgustingly romantic, Dean."

"Guess I'll keep doing it then," he says with a straight face.

"Stop."

"What, does it sound wrong?"

Sam regards his brother's face. There's no way he's completely erased Dean's qualms about what's happening between them but he definitely got through to him. There's a teasing smile on his face. Maybe this is the start of something, something good.

"Sounds _very_ wrong coming from you, Dean."

"Then I don't-"

"No no no no, don't you dare fucking say it."

"...want to be right."

Sam immediately shoves his brother off the bed.

"You walked straight into that, Sammy." Dean's voice is slightly muffled coming from the floor.

***

They're a little awkward when they're alone with each other that day, neither wanting to be the one to initiate anything, both holding their breath wondering what's going to happen next. Sam isn't sure they actually established anything about what they are or aren't doing in the daytime. There's no denying he'd enjoy fucking Dean on the nearest available surface, but he doesn't feel the need to put an arm around his brother nor does Dean give the impression of wanting him to.

The tension builds as the job they're working makes it impossible to advance their plot for another two nights. The Fact stares at them, yet never encroaches.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Here we are--the end. It is six months to the day that I posted this work on AO3. That's... a really long time for a total of 5 chapters.
> 
> This is the porn that should have been in chapter 4. Enjoy.

And so, Sam and Dean finish their job with minimal injuries and drive back to the motel as usual.

"First shower's yours," Dean says.

Sam focuses on taking probably the fastest shower he's taken in years because going any slower would give him time to think. He doesn't _want_ to think; he wants Dean. In more than just the desperate, horny sense.

While Dean showers, Sam tugs on a T-shirt and jeans, turns on his laptop, and creates a pretense for himself that he's looking for their next job. In no way waiting for his brother to get out there and... do whatever they are going to do next.

Finally Dean makes his entrance, wearing jeans with nothing above the waist.

The younger man pushes his chair back from the table and leans back, hands behind his head.

"Nice lingerie."

With an incongruent smirk, Dean crosses his arms in front of his chest and adjusts his stance.

The brothers look at each other from across the room for much longer than thirtysomethings who've lost count of how many times they've banged each other ought to. With every passing moment it gets harder for both of them to pretend they feel at ease.

"Are we playing Statues?" Sam jokes to break the silence.

"It's just..." A few steps closer as Dean drops his fake smile and tries to explain: "I'm looking my little brother in the eye and saying 'I want us to fuck.'"

That does it. Sam stands and approaches, then places his hands on Dean's shoulders. It could pass for brotherly—the legal kind—until the hands move inward, then up Dean's neck, fingers ending up buried in his slightly damp hair. Sam leans in close.

"I'm not little," he whispers before he presses the first kiss to Dean's lips. He notices eyelids fluttering shut as Dean seeks another.

"Open your eyes, Dean."

Dean obeys, and as he does he uncrosses his arms at last and grasps the bottom of Sam's v-neck, pulling it up slowly. Breaking apart, after the shirt is gone, the younger man backs him toward the bed.

The more Sam gets, the more he wants. The more kisses he shares with Dean, the more starved he is for those lips. The more of Dean's flesh he touches, the more he thirsts for the feel of that warm skin under his palms and fingers.

"God, Dean, please let me fuck you," he breathes.

Dean grins between kisses as he starts pushing Sam back. He's careful, gives Sam plenty of time to walk backward even with the distraction of Dean opening up his pants. Eventually they bump into a wall.

The older brother pulls the other's jeans and underwear down, going slow, even getting down on his knees. When the clothes are bunched down around Sam's ankles, Dean runs his fingers from just above the heel of each foot up the sides of Sam's calves and thighs. And this time it's less like sparks in Sam's skin; it gives him goosebumps, sending chills through his body with every inch gained by the tantalizing hands.

When he reaches Sam's hips, Dean stops, then looks up. Under a mask of mischief, it's secret worship as he plants kisses and little licks on Sam's inner thighs, refusing to move any closer to where his mouth and tongue are needed.

Sam groans, obeying the unspoken command not to touch himself. All he can do is press his hands against the too-smooth wall until the fingertips turn white.

"Dean," he gasps, voice on the edge of breaking.

"Mmhmm?"

"Quit teasing." He only half-means it. 

"Dean... Quit... Teasing... _what_?"

"Please."

Dean exploits the loophole, ending his attentions and standing up like his brother isn't hard and aching right in front of him. He kisses Sam again, deep and deliberate, before there's opportunity to glare. 

"You can fuck me," he murmurs, "as long as it's not in or on the bed."

Sam takes that as permission to step out of the clothes around his feet, and do a bit of pivoting to get Dean with his back to the wall.

"Right here? Against this wall?" challenges Sam. It's his turn to unbutton and unzip; converse to his brother he has Dean stepping out of his pants and kicking them away in seconds. He can't resist a few subtle thrusts once the denim is out of the way and they can press close.

He slows down just a bit then, starts sucking on Dean's throat for the first time in months. One of the few things Dean did talk about back then was _"no leaving marks."_  

They haven't said out loud that the old rules are gone. They simply know that they're starting over from (almost) scratch.

As Dean replies, faint vibrations from his vocal cords reach Sam's lips.

"Right here, against this wall." 

One thing they aren't starting over with is knowing each other's bodies. Sam has his brother squirming on a couple of lube-slicked fingers in no time. Dean, meanwhile, has already made use of the fact that Sam is highly vulnerable to licking and kissing. 

At the moment however, Dean doesn't stand a chance, between the digits reaching inside him touching the sweet spot, and Sam using his free hand to pin Dean's wrists above his head.

He wonders if Dean would like being tied up. Or tries to wonder, but can't get past how there is so much of him, physical and emotional, that he has been missing. It frustrates him, wanting to touch every bit of flesh right this second yet trying to savor it because there's more to his brother than that. There's more than the body that stole into his bed night after night, than the scent, than the gasps and groans. There are hands that want to take instead of just give; there are moans of the name _"Sam"_ that are indescribably different from before. There are green eyes that can't hide that this is so, so much more than foreplay to sex. There is Dean.

Sam withdraws the fingers that have been preparing Dean. His other hand releases Dean's arms and trails down his neck and chest, pausing to tease a nipple. The older brother draws in a sharp breath. At last both hands rest on Dean's hips. Sam slides them down and around to the backs of his brother's thighs, then uses his thumbs to massage the skin in small circles, letting suspense build.

Without breaking eye contact, Sam grips Dean's legs tight and lifts him up. With a little maneuvering, he has Dean's ass taking him in as if he belongs, and as far as Sam is concerned, he does.

He's never found it easy to feel like he belongs, but being inside his brother, his brother's legs wrapped around him—it's close enough. He lets the wall support some of the weight as Dean takes his head in his hands and leans in for another kiss, alternately teasing and plundering Sam's mouth.

Finally they've had enough and Sam gets to thrusting, finding the movement and rhythm that gets the most pleasured sounds out of his brother. One of Dean's hands squeezes his shoulder, hanging on like nothing else matters; the other has a fistful of Sam's hair.

This is the first time Sam sees euphoria on his brother's face. Hidden before behind closed eyelids, darkness, a turned head—now it's right in front of him. Dean's eyes are closed for the moment, head leaning back against the wall as he moans, and Sam can stare and imagine that this face was there every time they touched in the dark.

The green eyes open halfway. For the second time Dean angles his head as well as Sam's so he can press their mouths together. There's too much movement for anything gentle or sweet but he does the best he can. His right hand releases his brother's shoulder and slips between them.

"Sammy," he gasps against the younger man's lips, as if he hasn't said it countless times already. His breaths get faster with the movements of his fist; Sam's fingers on his legs squeeze harder _knowing_ how close Dean is. He keeps up the cadence of his hips, seals their lips together again until Dean comes. He steals the shout that would be his name as a loud groan into his mouth.

Panting, Dean makes eye contact for about a second before he offers his hand. Sam cleans it with his tongue before he begins thrusting again in earnest. He's on the edge, so close there's nothing left in his mind but Dean and what it feels like fucking him.

He barely feels it when Dean presses his cheek against Sam's, perspiration making their skin stick. There is a pause, almost, before Dean whispers an unprompted phrase in his ear.

"I love you."

Climax takes hold.

And Sam can't say it back the way he wants to; all he can manage as his fingernails dig in and draw blood is the shorthand: _"Dean."_

Eyes closed, breathing heavy, foreheads resting together, drops of sweat mingling at every point of contact, all is right.

***

Sam almost doesn't care if they actually share a bed. As long as Dean is willing to be honest about what's going on, they can sleep like they always used to. They don't _need_ to bask in the afterglow. Sam has never slept with anyone he wished would snuggle more. Besides, he's a little preoccupied.

Dean gets into bed with him anyway. He lies on his stomach next to Sam, head turned toward him. He sees Sam studying him.

"What?" Dean asks.

The words don't arrange themselves fast enough. Turns out they're unneeded. Dean shuffles over under the covers so he can look into his little brother's eyes without a pillow blocking half the view.

"I can say three friggin' words that aren't even a lie if it gets you off."

The only real response to that is a scoff of approval.

Sam sits up and reaches to switch off the light without getting out of bed. When he settles back into place, Dean overcompensates and moves closer to him than before. The end result is Dean using Sam's shoulder as a pillow ("You better not drool on me,"), Sam's arm around Dean, and Dean being more of a blanket than anything else to the left half of Sam's body.

In the dark, his brother's breath on his neck is comforting, and Sam's eyes close.

Somewhere on the other side of the room, sitting in the dark, the Fact is content. Its irregular face and form haven't changed a bit. As unattractive as it would be to most, there's not a single thing Sam would change about it.

There's a pause in the regular pattern of inhales and exhales right before Dean speaks, voice already slurred from sleepiness.

"Sammy?"

"What?"

"We're _cuddling_. Didn't we-"

"Dean."

"What?"

"We're not talking about it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I thank all the individuals who helped and supported me, whether by betäing, betäing sex positions, writing super positive reviews and comments, purportedly reading the first three chapters aloud at a sangria party, waiting more patiently than I deserve six friggin' months for a resolution, or choosing to click the link in the first place. You know who you are.
> 
> 2\. My plan was to not end it with those five words in any way, shape, or form--too cliché, too predictable. To my dismay, my plan was metaphorically stabbed in the chest before my very eyes, and I wanted to save it but it insisted, _"It's better this way."_


End file.
